


The Memory of a Summer Day

by simeysgirl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-03-08
Packaged: 2018-01-13 00:07:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1205512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simeysgirl/pseuds/simeysgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My name is Draco Malfoy and I'm known for two things. One, what happened on a fateful morning in June, and two, my relationship with Harry Potter. Before we can get to the events of that summer morning, we have to start at the beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Memory of a Summer Day

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Books, Quills, Passing Notes](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/36631) by obliqueo. 



> **Disclaimer:** Harry Potter belongs to JKR, not me. The beautiful artwork that inspired this story belongs to [obliqueo](http://obliqueo.livejournal.com/). 
> 
> **Author's notes:** All the thanks in the world go to G, who is always there to kick me up the arse whenever I'm slacking. All credit also goes to G for the title. **obliqueo** , your art is amazing. _Amazing._ (Seriously, Draco's hair in that picture. It is _perfect._ I want to touch it.) My only hope is that you enjoy this fic as much as I enjoyed looking at your art.

My name is Draco Malfoy and I am mainly known for two things. One, what happened on the sixteenth of June, 2000, and two, my somewhat tumultuous relationship with Harry Potter.

This is the story of the latter. We'll get to what happened on that fateful summer morning, but in order to do so, we must start at the beginning. Or rather, the end.

The war ended in May. I won't go into details—you all know the story. Good guys prevailed, bad guys failed. Main bad guy died and main good guy stood victorious. After the dust had settled, the wizarding world was in a quandary. Certainly, most of the decisions were simple. Pin medals and bestow awards on the good guys (well, deserved, don't get me wrong), and throw the bad guys in prison (also well deserved; sorry Father).

But they were at a loss as to what to do with me, and others like me. Yes, I'd done some truly terrible things that would live with me for the rest of my life, but we—all us children of the bad guys—were not all bad. I'd have much preferred spending that last year of school pretending to study and playing Quidditch rather than what actually happened (not counting everything else, there was no Quidditch).

I didn't enjoy being scared to go home to my own bloody house because of _him_. I really could have lived without seeing a teacher getting killed and then _eaten_ where I used to have my breakfast. But it was expected—demanded—of us to follow in the footsteps of our parents. And tough shit if you didn't like it. They were bad guys first and our parents second, as they weren't adverse to a little torturing to get what they wanted. My mother—and Pansy's—did try to protect us, but the bastards didn't mind hurting children, so they didn't think for a second before hurting anyone else.

Especially _him_ , the creepy, unnatural bastard that he was. One would think that he lost all sense of sanity when he lost his nose.

Some of my friends—people I'd known forever—relished following their lead. Especially Vincent and Greg. I'm pretty sure they simply loved the feeling of power. They were weak, and obviously thought that torturing twelve year old kids made them powerful. Idiots.

But the rest of my little circle—Blaise, Theo, Pansy, Daphne—we hated it. We didn't want to be evil, we just wanted to be teenagers. We wanted to do normal, not evil, teenage _stuff._

So, what to do with us? There was talk—fairly terrifying talk—of us all going to prison with our parents, but our salvation finally came—and I shouldn't have been surprised—in the form of Harry Potter and Professor McGonagall.

Potter stormed into the Wizengamot in a blaze of sparks and fire—I wasn't actually there, of course, and I'm sure the story has been exaggerated—to demand the immediate acquittal of myself, my mother and my friends.

Apparently, my mother and I had saved Potter's life on several occasions and should have honour and not scorn. I couldn't fathom why—or when—my mother had saved him, and the only time I hadn't actively tried to hurt him was when I didn't identify him to crazy Aunt Bella at the Manor that day. (I wish I hadn't, by the way. The git thanked me by stealing my wand. No, I don't mean that, but still, the git stole my wand.)

Anyway, McGonagall then took over, silencing the uproar with only a stern glare and a twiddle of her glasses (again, I wasn't there) and informed the old wizards and witches that she fully intended to reopen Hogwarts in September, and would need her students back.

Thanks to McGonagall's speech—which I still wish I'd been present for; it sounded amazing—not only were we not going to prison (except Greg; trying to curse the wizard sent to remove your tracking charm is never a good idea) but we were actually going back to school.

And it was all thanks to Harry bloody Potter. I just hoped there'd be Quidditch.

~

It didn't take long to settle back into school life. After all, it was all I had wanted for the past year. I couldn't wait to get back in. There were a few—okay, a _lot_ —of instances where we told— _shown_ —how much we were hated. It was, quite literally, written on the wall. In big red letters.

SLYTHERIN'S DIE and/or GO TO AZKABAN

For me, personally, the superfluous apostrophe annoyed more than anything. I had fully expected that we wouldn't be accepted in school with open arms, but there was never need for bad grammar. I did feel bad for the younger students, though. The look of fear on their tiny little faces as the hat announced 'Slytherin!' upset me more than I thought it might. 

My anger only surfaced when those same, frightened little first-years—who hadn't even become Slytherins until after the war had ended—were treated like dirt. That was just wrong. Luckily for me (and my impeccable behaviour record), Professor Sprout happened to overhear one such instance before I could intervene and took the matter straight to the headmistress.

Actually, that little fucker Zacharias Smith was the lucky one. I was about thirty seconds away from showing him exactly how 'evil' a Slytherin could be. After all, I'd had plenty of practice.

The headmistress wasted no time in announcing to the school that the next student caught 'living in the past' and 'bullying their fellow students' would be promptly returned home to their parents until they could, and I quote: 'learn how to function in normal society again'. Being present at that speech did make me wonder momentarily if the tales of her in front of the Wizengamot weren't exaggerated at all.

The day I rounded a corner to see Potter and Weasley, of all people, defending a second year against the snide comments of their dipshit of a friend Finnegan, I knew something had changed. Something good.

Yes, Weasley was probably doing it for the benefit of his girlfriend, but Potter seemed to be genuine in his indignation. 

That was also the day that something else changed, and I didn't know at the time whether it was for the better or not.

“Draco,” Potter said, smiling and nodding to me as he passed. “Have a nice day.”

 _Draco? Have a nice day?_ What the actual fuck was he playing at?

~

What's that saying? 'Time flies when you're having fun' or some crap? I must have been having the time of my life, as that year time did indeed fly.

Hogwarts was the same boring place it had been before the war. The classes were long, homework was tedious, and the Quidditch was marvellous. I know people didn't think I deserved my place on the team—they were vocal enough about it—but I knew that I'd damn well earned my spot. My father didn't buy those brooms years ago to get me on the team—he bought them _because_ I was on the team. I just needed to show everybody else.

I got my chance on the day of the Slytherin-Gryffindor match. Potter, of course, was seeker for Gryffindor and I couldn't wait to face him. I'd played a lot since returning to school, but I wasn't at my best. I hadn't exactly been practising over the past year, but I suppose Potter had been otherwise occupied as well. 

I was determined to prove my worth and prove it I did. Just under forty minutes into the game, with Slytherin trailing 70-10, I caught sight of the snitch just to the side of the commentary box, the early winter sun making it sparkle ever so gently, and I went for it.

I didn't know where Potter was and I didn't really care. All I cared about was getting the snitch and when my fingers finally closed around that perfect little gold ball, it was the happiest I'd felt in a very long time.

I barely heard the cheers of my house-mates, nor did I feel my team-mates clapping me on the back. My mind was set on one thing: finding Potter and rubbing it right into his smug face. I'd waited years to do that, and nothing was going to stop me. I had my winning speech going over and over again in my mind on a loop. I was ready.

Of course, Potter being Potter, nothing ever went as planned. I was ready for the usual 'We'll get you next time' and 'Lucky catch', and the very original 'CHEAT!' that Weasley, girl Weasley, and the rest of the Gryffindors were shouting. 

I was not ready for the crowds to part for an extremely calm looking Potter to pass. I wasn't ready for Potter to hold his hand out to shake mine with a smile on his face. And I definitely wasn't ready for him to shake my hand, pat me on the shoulder and say, 'Good game, Draco,' before leaving towards the showers.

It took a good few seconds for my brain to start comprehending just exactly what had happened. When all I could think was 'What the fuck?' I gave up and went to shower myself, snitch still tightly gripped in my fist.

~

And so it continued. Potter never wasted an opportunity to say hello or nod in greeting in the hallway. Charms was the worst. We were—not of our own choosing, of course—sat next to each other and, for all intents and purposes, partners for the year. We were encouraged— _expected_ —to talk to one another about the lesson and practise our charms in our pairs.

Potter seemed to revel in it. Not content with simply talking about the Animus Charm we were working on, he'd talk my ear off about any mundane subject he could think of. I heard all about his struggles to keep up with his Potions (which wasn't entirely news), Weasley's lovey-dovey relationship with Granger (ew, ew, ew), and his plans for after school or the weekend (invariably Quidditch and a trip to Hogsmeade. Exciting stuff).

After one such lesson—and a run down of the inner workings of the Gryffindor boys' dorm habits—I tried to quickly gather my things and leave, when it all came to a head with Potter. I'd spent the lesson being as polite as I could, but he just wouldn't shut up. Before I could escape, though, the git had the bloody nerve to ask if I was going straight to the Great Hall for dinner as we, and I quote, 'Might as well walk down together'.

I, in what I wouldn't describe as my proudest moment, spluttered and stammered something about needing to use the bathroom and left pretty quickly.

I didn't have a clue what he was playing at. Unless it was his evil plan to turn me into a blubbering buffoon who talked about his toilet habits in public, in which case he'd succeeded.

I spent the entire dinner time hiding behind Pansy, pushing my stew around the bowl and thinking about Potter. I had thought that he was genuine with his defence of me an my fellow Slytherins, but with his more recent actions, I had to wonder.

Was he trying to get close to me to embarrass me in the future? Was he trying—and the idea horrified me more than I'd thought—to score points to steal Granger from Weasley? Was he, as far fetched as it might be, actually trying to be my friend?

I honestly had no idea. One thing I did know, and what confused me the most, was what his attention made me feel. I tried my hardest to ignore what was happening, but as I tossed and turned at night, unable to sleep—nightmares, you know—my mind invariably turned to Potter and how things had changed in the space of one school term. 

At first, it had been easy to ignore Potter's attentions, but I had noticed my reactions had shifted. For example, when I'd try to paste my usual smirk on my face when Potter said hello to me in the hallway, and I'd sometimes simply forget and smile back. Or when I'd laugh accidentally at one of his stories in Charms. I'd cover it up, of course, by making a good snide comment about one of his friends.

I didn't have a clue _why_ I was reacting that way, but I knew it had to stop. And my sleep-deprived brain knew exactly how to stop it.

~

It was a simple enough plan, but I was confident of its success. Ignoring Potter just seemed to encourage him more, and there was no way I was going to actively engage with him, so that left me with one option: I would annoy the hell out of Potter until he gave up and left me alone.

It would solve everything. Potter would leave me alone, and I'd no longer feel compelled to smile at his happy little face every time I saw him. Perfect.

Professor Flitwick must have read my mind, as the very next class after I'd concocted my plan gave me the very opportunity I'd been looking for to put the plan into action.

The Avifugum charm was simple enough. I, of course, mastered it within minutes, but Potter wasn't far behind. It wasn't long before the entire classroom was filled with flying bits of paper, and it gave me the most marvellous idea.

Flitwick's classes had become quite relaxed, especially for our year. We were, in the professor's own words, more than capable, and he trusted us enough to practice on our own once he was sure we had become adept at the basic charm. It wasn't unusual to see previous lessons' charms popping up in the classroom, as students practised charms they weren't so confident in.

Which made my plan that much easier to put into action. From that lesson on, any time Potter tried to talk to me, he found himself fighting off little paper cranes. As the weeks went on, I got inventive and even managed to get little patterns on their wings. It was instinct after a while, Potter started talking and I'd have cranes flying at his head without a second thought. It was quite fun, to watch Potter batting the bits of paper away from his head.

The paper cranes were just one prong of my many layered, well thought out plan. I'd spent quite a long time when I should have been sleeping—who knew nightmares could be so useful?—thinking of new ways to annoy the hell out of Potter.

There was only one small blip in the execution of the plan. I originally found a very complicated Trip Jinx that would activate whenever Potter came within two feet of me in the hallways. I was so pleased with myself and couldn't wait to see it in action. Of course, Potter being Potter, nothing went to plan.

One morning after I'd cast the Jinx, I spotted Potter coming out of the fourth floor bathroom. He spotted me of course, and smiled before making his way towards me. The Jinx hit him just as he got out of arm’s reach, causing him to trip and fall flat on his arse.

Unluckily for me, Professor Slughorn happened to be walking past at that very second. Now, I didn't have my wand out, so no one could prove it was me, but I very quickly removed the Jinx when I was alone. I didn't want to be getting into trouble for causing actual injury. 

The upset and shocked look on Potter's face had nothing to do with me removing the Jinx. Nothing at all.

~

As my plan progressed, I found myself having a lot of fun. My friends simply rolled their eyes whenever I mentioned the plan. Pansy even patted me on the hand once as if I was a child. I had no idea what that was about, and I was too busy with Potter to figure her out. The rest of my ideas were going swimmingly.

Exploding juice at breakfast, that was a winner. Potter had had to take his jumper off right there in the Great Hall. 

A very elaborate spell that cause Potter's robes to appear invisible only to himself was a favourite. Watching Potter walking around with all of his robes on at once was hilarious. I could hear him moaning about his robes to his rather confused friends until Granger figured out what was wrong and cancelled the spell. 

The bubbles that followed Potter around, bursting only on impact with him were a genius idea that I'd loved to have taken credit for, but was, again, something adapted from a Charms lesson. Potter walked around with his shirt wet and see through for four hours until Granger, once again, realised and reversed the spell. Spoil sport.

The Charm I was most proud of, one that I'd invented all on my own, was to be my downfall. Whenever Potter would say my name, his trousers would drop to the floor. It was, quite frankly, brilliant. He'd pass me in the hall, say my name and he'd show his pants to the world. Every single time. The best part was, because I'd discovered it myself, Granger couldn't counteract it. I'm sure one of the teachers could've done so, but I hoped Potter would be too embarrassed to go to them.

It lasted five days. Five glorious days of seeing Potter's spotted boxers whenever he said my name. You'd have thought that he'd have figured it out, but no. He still said my name, and he still dropped his trousers. Brilliant. And it would have continued if it wasn't for Weasley. 

Potter had just caught up to me on his way to Transfiguration, and with a nod and a genial, 'Draco', his trousers dropped, showing off a rather fetching, obviously new, pair of pants. Potter simply rolled his eyes and pulled his trousers up, but Weasley had other ideas.

Turning around quickly, he spotted me. Unluckily, or so I thought initially, I was alone, being the only one of my friends to be taking Transfiguration. I was soon pretty grateful for my friends' absence as Weasley started talking.

“You know, Malfoy,” he began, and I really didn't like the smug look on his face or the look of horror on Potter's. “You have spent an awful lot of time and energy on getting Harry undressed in the past few weeks. Even I can tell that you just want a good gawp, so why don't you just ask him out and save us all the drama?”

I spluttered and tried my best to come up with an appropriate response as Granger, for some unknown reason, started smacking Weasley on the arm. Potter, for his part, looked absolutely horrified. I couldn't talk. The only word I could come up with was 'No', so I simply shouted that and did what I could.

I ran and hid in the closest classroom.

~

As I hid out in the abandoned, dusty room, my mind whirred as I thought about what Weasley had said—had _insinuated_.

I hadn't realised that my plan had solely consisted of ways to get Potter to undress. It most certainly hadn't been my intention. My plan was to annoy the hell out of Potter and get him to leave me alone. I wanted things to go back to how they should have been, with me and my friends against Potter and his cronies. Not in a 'my blood is better than your blood'-Voldie way, of course, but in a general, good old 'Gryffindor versus Slytherin' way.

As I thought about it properly, I realised that maybe I alone wanted that. It wasn't unusual to find Blaise talking to any number of non-Slytherin students. Theo was seeing that Ravenclaw girl in the year below us. I'd more than once caught Pansy happily chatting with Granger as they sat next to each other in Charms. My friends obviously didn't share the same feelings as me.

 _Why_ had I been so insistent on annoying Potter? It definitely wasn't because I wanted to see him without his clothes. Weasley was way off the mark, there. I didn't _fancy_ him. I just wanted to stop feeling like I needed to smile when I saw him.

It hadn't worked, yet. I still smiled when I saw him—not least because he was usually either topless or bottomless. I only enjoyed being near him because I wanted to see his reactions to my jinxes, really. And I'd only stopped the tripping jinx because I was afraid of getting in trouble, not, as I thought back to that day, due to Potter's sad face, right?

Did always hexing him to lose his clothes mean I _wanted_ to see him without his clothes on? Did wanting to smile when you see someone mean you liked them? Did looking out for someone and not wanting them to get hurt mean you fancied them?

Did I really fancy Harry Potter?

Before I could think any more, the door opened and a rather ashamed, and a little upset, looking Potter shuffled in. I could feel my cheeks redden even before Potter opened his mouth. I ran over the words I was going to say in my head. _Deny, deny, deny._

Potter moved closer, and as soon as he uttered, “Sorry,” my wand was out and the little cranes were fluttering around his head. I blushed harder. It was automatic; it was instinctive.

Instead of getting angry, Potter laughed. _Laughed_. Drawing his wand, he ended the spell without a word, smiling as he did so. 

“As I was saying,” Potter continued, “sorry about Ron. He was just letting off some steam.”

I blinked. “You knew how to get rid of them?”

Potter nodded, his cheeks reddening slightly.

“Why...when...why didn't you just _stop me_?”

Potter blushed harder before he stood up straighter and visibly steeled himself. “I, erm, liked the, erm, attention.”

“What? Why?”

“You know.”

I didn't, but I really didn't want to show myself up. Instead, I asked what I'd wondered since the beginning of term. “Why did you defend us? Why did you stand up for us against the others?”

“It would have been hypocritical of me get you back to school, only to make your life hell once you were here. It would have been just plain wrong. I wanted to get back to normal, and I couldn't think of coming back to Hogwarts without you being here.

“Besides, if you didn't deserve to be here, you wouldn't be here. Look at Goyle.”

Indignation spiked inside me and I had no idea why. It _was_ Greg's fault he was in Azkaban, but still, I felt compelled to defend his honour.

“And the other thing.”

“What other thing?” I asked, not particularly wanting to hear the answer.

“You really don't know, do you?”

“Know what?” I was well past embarrassment and well on the way to irritation. I just wanted to get out of that dusty room.

“I like you.”

“Yes, I got that from the constant smiling and talking and handshakes and incessant—”

“No. I _like_ you.”

“Oh.” I couldn't think of what else to say. _He liked me?_ I'd only just realised that I might like him and then he springs that on me. I needed a minute. It was all happening much too quickly. “Oh.”

“Oh, crap. I didn't mean to freak you out.” Potter moved to leave. “I promise that wasn't _why_ I spoke up for you. That'd be creepy. And I promise I won't just attack you in the showers. I just wanted to let you know. Just in case.”

“Just in case?” 

“You know what? Forget I said anything. I didn't say anything. Oh crap...” Potter buried his face in his hands.

Plucking up courage I didn't know I possessed, I grabbed hold of Potter's arm before he could leave. “I think...”

“What?”

“I think I like you, too.” And, grabbing hold of that bit of courage and squeezing the life out of it, I pulled Potter towards me and kissed him. It was, after all, the only way to definitely find out how I really felt.

'Oh, fuck' was the prevailing thought as Potter kissed me back. There was nothing else for it. I fancied—I liked Harry Potter. _Like that._

“Draco...” Potter moaned as we stopped for a breath.

I took his face in my hands to kiss him again, and the bloody git laughed in my face. I paled. Shit. Was _this_ where he told me it was all a joke? I could've died.

“No, no,” Potter said, obviously noticing my distress. “It's just...” He stood back, gesturing to his now-bare legs. “Could you please cancel the jinx?”

I laughed and, after some time, did as he asked.

That was that. That's how Harry Potter and I became a couple. It's not the end, though. No, that's just the beginning of the story.

~

I'd thought, stupidly, as it turns out, that people had grown in the past six months and had forgotten about me and my actions during the war. Being squirrelled away in school, I hadn't had to deal with the general wizarding public. Mother, Merlin love her, tried her best to keep it all away from me. 

Yes, I had to deal with _certain_ fellow students, the ones who were sneaky enough to voice their opinions despite McGonagall's warning, but that was nothing compared to how bad things got once it was known that Harry and I had got together.

I did mention to Harry—and Merlin! Calling him Harry took some getting used to—about keeping our relationship a secret, but he wouldn't hear of it. According to his infinite wisdom, people knowing about us would only reiterate the point that we weren't bad, just normal teenagers.

Harry was an idiot—a hopeful idiot, but an idiot nonetheless—to think that people wouldn't care. Optimism meant nothing when faced with judgemental wizards with long memories.

The people who mattered—the people that Harry and I were closest to—didn't give a crap. As I found out, I was actually the most surprised of any of our groups of friends. Weasley actually cheered when we emerged from the dusty classroom hand-in-hand. Harry, as it turns out, hadn't shut up about me since we'd returned to school.

My friends were equally unsurprised. I was perfectly unaware that I, too, hadn't stopped talking about Harry. My mother replied to my letter telling her about my new relationship quicker than I thought possible, pleased that I was enjoying school and had found someone to make me happy. She added an invitation for Harry to join us for dinner the following weekend, and a little note to 'watch out for each other'.

According to Harry—and reiterated by Granger when she saw my disbelief—the Weasley family were equally pleased that Harry had found someone that made him smile. The Gryffindors tended to leave us alone if we spent time in the Gryffindor tower, which, to be honest, was most of the time, as Gryffindor House just did what they always had done: whatever Granger told them to.

The other students were another matter. Some—mainly the younger students who didn't really know what was going on—didn't seem to care. Then there were those—mainly sixth and seventh years who couldn't or wouldn't forget—who were quite vocal in their distaste. But with Professor McGonagall's previous warning still in place, we didn't hear _too much_ venom directed at us.

We were thankfully quite safe when we were in school. We weren't prepared at all for the 'outside world'. If I wasn't enjoying myself so much with Harry, it might not have been worth it.

~

The trouble really started a few weeks later at breakfast, with the arrival of the morning post. In retrospect, we should have expected something to happen much sooner, but we were too busy enjoying ourselves. 

I was happily munching on my toast that breakfast time—and sneaking glances of Harry's smiling face—when a unearthly growl came from the other end of the Gryffindor table. Ginny (there were too many Weasleys; it was just easier to use her name), red-faced and extremely angry looking had jumped up from her seat, marched straight over to the Hufflepuff table and slapped Zacharias Smith right across the face. Even without knowing the reasons behind the slap, it looked absolutely brilliant.

Before the rest of the students or teachers could react, a buzz went around the Hall as copies of the Prophet were passed around. Most of the Slytherin students had _reasons_ for not reading the Prophet, so I had no idea what was going on, but from the look of absolute horror on Harry's face as he read the front page, I knew it wasn't going to be good.

As Professor McGonagall called for silence, both Harry and Weasley were trying their hardest to get to the Hufflepuff table, with Granger and Finnegan holding on tightly to them, holding them back. Looking to the top table, I noticed McGonagall reading with a, quite frankly, scary look on her face, and I held my hand out, knowing _someone_ would get me a copy. Pansy summoned one off a timid looking Ravenclaw and glanced at it quickly, a growl rising in her throat as she, too, moved towards the Hufflepuffs.

Grabbing hold of her hand, I stared at the front page until the words no longer looked like English. That fucking _bastard_. I just hoped to Merlin that the house-elves made sure my mother didn't see it. The title was bad enough; the story was even worse.

** THE SAVIOUR UNDER THE SPELL OF DEATH EATER SCUM? **

The story was unsubstantiated rubbish. A grainy picture of the two of us, taken by the lake, took up most of the page, and a small, professional picture of a very smarmy Smith smiling as he told his story to the reporter. I couldn't reread the actual story properly through the haze of anger, but words randomly popped out at me. _Imperious, unforgivable, Azkaban, disgusting, evil, revenge, heinous._

“Miss Howard,” Professor McGonagall said loudly, “please escort Mr Smith to the infirmary; I will be along presently to deal with him. Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy, please could you join me in my office once you have finished eating?”

As Smith was led away by his housemate, holding his red cheek, Harry stood up. If I hadn't been so angry I could've screamed, I might've laughed at Smith trying to hide behind little Irene Howard. Harry ignored him completely and walked over to me, holding his hand out.

I was pleasantly surprised; for a fraction of a second I'd thought that maybe he wouldn't want the hassle. The look on Harry's face will live with me forever, though. It was pure devastation. He thought we would be okay.

Professor McGonagall had a face like thunder as she walked past the Gryffindor table, but a small smile appeared as she stopped by Ginny. “Miss Weasley, twenty points to Gryffindor for standing up for your fellow students.”

~

The article was just the beginning. Within days, the Howlers and hate mail started arriving. Professor McGonagall, who was fast becoming one of my favourite people, was extremely quick with her wand, banishing the offending red envelopes before they made it anywhere near us students. Any she missed, along with any hateful letters, were deftly dealt with by the quick wands of Granger, Ginny, Blaise and Theo. 

Thankfully—or not, depending who you spoke to—we didn't have to deal with Smith any longer. He was expelled the morning of the article. Not only had he flouted McGonagall's 'forget the past; live for the present' rule, it was discovered that he had been sneaking off to London during school time to talk to the reporter, not to mention the Galleons he'd made illicitly. 

Really, as angry as everyone was at him, Smith was lucky to get off with only an expulsion. According to Granger, selling Hogwart's secrets was incredibly frowned upon. She did quote—at length—an old case involving some students from many years ago, but I was too busy seething at the time to listen to the details.

With Smith's expulsion, our fellow students tended to leave us alone. Even the few who were vocal when Harry and I got first together kept their distance. Risking a detention to shout crap at us paled into insignificance when an expulsion became a possibility.

In an attempt to stem the flow of hate, Harry sent a letter to the editor of the Prophet. Surprisingly, it actually worked. That might have had something to do with Granger's addition of an opening paragraph stating that the letter would be the only correspondence they would ever receive from Harry if they didn't comply with its contents, and Pansy's ending of, what amounted to, 'Fuck off and leave us alone'.

The paper stopped, as Harry asked them to, printing complete lies and rumours. It instead printed the small picture of us together that Granger insisted would sweeten the request and an apology to me in particular.

The Prophet—or any other of the gossip-mongering sycophants—didn't leave us alone completely though. No, they stopped printing hateful words and instead found a new angle. We were now a hot topic and, in the words of Finnegan, the new 'It couple'. 

We were protected while we were at school. Reporters did try to gain access to us through our Quidditch matches or other days when the school grounds were open to the public, but Professor McGonagall made certain that we were left well enough alone for the most part. 

All in all, the rest of the year passed without incident. Of course, whenever we stepped foot in public, the papers were there, clambering for a quote and taking a few too many pictures. Throughout it all, Harry was brilliant. More than once, I asked him if it was worth it, and he always answered the same way: with a hurt look on his face, followed by a big kiss and a 'don't be an idiot'.

In private though, it was perfect. Harry became quite close with my friends, as evidenced by his use of the pet name 'Panto' for Pansy. It was apparently an inside joke between the two of them, stemming from a Muggle thing with horses. I have no idea, but it made Pansy and Harry smile, so I left them to it.

I, somehow, also became friends with Harry's group of miscreants. Ginny was easy. I had no idea why we hadn't become friends years ago, family feuds and Bat Bogey Hexes aside. We were too similar; it was great to finally have someone who shared the same sense of humour.

Granger—Hermione—she was a lot easier than I ever thought to get along with. I'd always thought her an uptight little witch who knew too much for her own good. She did, of course, know too much, but she used that knowledge to help her friends and I'd never met a more fiercely loyal person before. I grew to like her very much, as did Daphne. Apparently, they had the same problem with their hair or something. I don't know what it was exactly, but they bonded over whatever it was immediately.

The biggest surprise for me was Weasley (and he will always be Weasley, as I'll always be Malfoy to him; it's a thing). I anticipated him being the biggest hurdle for me to overcome to a successful relationship with Harry, even with him being basically the reason we got together in the first place. I was wrong. His relief wasn't only due, as I originally thought, to Harry's incessant chatting, he actually was simply happy that Harry was happy. Even if it was with me.

It wasn't all sunshine and kisses by the lake, with me and Harry. We were still two completely different people, with differing views on everything from Quidditch to the future of the wizarding world. Our fights were legendary, so explosive they would draw crowds. Wands were never drawn, though, and we never parted on harsh words. We didn't want to risk our burgeoning relationship on an unanswered offhand comment. 

It was all extremely mature, I thought. Of course, we copied it from Hermione and Weasley, but that didn't it make it less grown up.

It all made for a, quite frankly, amazing final year of school. We studied, socialised, played Quidditch and generally enjoyed ourselves and it wasn't long before we were saying goodbye to the castle for the very last time.

~

Leaving Hogwarts meant saying goodbye to the protection we'd had from Professor McGonagall, our happy little bubble had burst. Within days of being out of school, I realised that our lives were never to be the same again.

Instead of enjoying our last summer before we started our various training or work placements and became 'proper' adults, we were besieged by the press and the gossiping hoards. We couldn't get so much as an ice cream without someone taking a picture or calling our names. I expected Harry to receive a lot of attention, with him being the Saviour and all, but what the buggering fuck did they want with me?

Despite the attention, our lives moved on at a steady pace. We started our jobs; Harry training to be an Auror and I followed my father's footsteps and joined the Ministry. Not entirely like my father, I decidedly avoided the Minister's office, but rather chose a low level position in the Department of Magical Transportation.

We still enjoyed spending time with our circle of friends and soon got used to being the 'It couple'. Whether it was a kiss or a fight, I was never surprised to find our weekend's activities posted on the front pages of the gossip magazines that Pansy always had littered around her living room.

Harry passed his Auror exams without a problem—not that anyone expected him to fail—and I soon worked my way up the ladder, becoming the youngest Under-secretary to the Under-secretary for the Floo Network in history. Well, according to Granger anyway. I simply revelled in having a job I loved, friends and family that I could count on and a boyfriend who I couldn't imagine life without.

We may have been young, but Harry and I moved into his house in Grimmauld Place together a little before my twentieth birthday and I didn't think anything could touch us. We were too happy. I should have known.

~

The letters started not long after we moved in together. At first, I assumed they were a prank and ignored them; I didn't even bother mention them to Harry until the third one arrived. First, it was one, every six weeks, like clockwork. Then it was monthly, every first of the month, all saying basically the same thing (put in simple terms): I didn't deserve my life and should be ready to lose it.

Harry had wanted to take them into work and make an official complaint, but I didn't think it was worth it. No one could get into the house and when we were out and about, I was a fully grown wizard; I was more than capable of taking care of myself. And, more for Harry's benefit than my actual thoughts, I told him that I had my big, strong Auror boyfriend to help me. It seemed to keep him quiet, anyway.

My mother, informed by Harry, no doubt, was adamant that I needed to take care of myself and report it, but I placated her by telling her they had stopped. For a time, I thought they had. I hadn't received any for months and no longer needed to look over my shoulder when out and about.

Then I discovered that Helen, my young, fresh out of Hogwarts, secretary had taken it upon herself to hide the letters from me, thinking that she was helping. It was only when I needed to replace a quill when she was out of the office that I found the bundle, hidden in her bottom drawer.

Not wanting to keep anything from Harry, I showed him the bundle and finally allowed him to at least give them to the Special Auror Squad to look at. Meanwhile, without Helen intercepting my mail, I realised that not only were they a daily occurrence but they were steadily getting more explicit in their hatred. 

I had no idea what I could've done to warrant such abuse. Sure, I'd done some pretty bad things during the war, but I really thought that was all behind me. It had been years since the end of the war, and people were more than accepting of me generally. The gossip pages certainly had no problem in plastering me all over their pages, with not an insult in sight (if you don't count their critique of mine and Harry's latest fight or, less often, my outfits).

With the SAS not finding anything tangible they could use to find the writer of the letters, Harry wouldn't leave my side. The SAS were working on a new spell that could detect minute traces of magical signature, but it was still not perfected and I was getting pretty desperate. I wanted them to find the anonymous bastard so Harry would leave me alone for five bloody minutes.

It all came to a head the night before the biggest presentation of my career to date. I had worked long and hard on the new proposal for a new, more efficient, Floo powder, and I was determined to present it to the public at the Ministry's annual public meeting, but Harry was even more set on me not 'standing in public with a bloody target on my back'.

The letters were admittedly quite severe by this point, but it was in public, for Merlin's sake. What was the worst that could happen. We had our biggest fight to date, right there on the Ministry steps, with the world and his crup watching. I was certain that it would end up in the papers, but I didn't really care. I just wanted to get away from my insufferable boyfriend, so I did just that.

I broke our number one rule. I Apparated away from Harry and went to my mother's, telling the house-elves not to let _anybody in_. I was going to my presentation and I was going to wow the wizarding world with that new Floo powder and that was the end of it.

~

I'll never forget the morning of the sixteenth of June, 2000. I couldn't, really. It was ingrained in me. After all, it was the day I died. 

It was a magnificent morning, with the sun shining high and bright. There was barely a whisper of wind and all around people talked of nothing but the heat while fanning themselves with the neat little leaflets I'd had printed to accompany the presentation. 

It was a perfect morning, except for one thing. I felt dreadful. It had been the longest since we'd got together that I'd been without Harry, for a start. Adding the fact that I'd stormed off and refused to see him (my mother and the bloody house-elves insisted on telling me that he'd tried to see me), well, it didn't make for the best of mornings. 

Public speaking was my forte. It was my flair for the spoken word, my aptitude for speeches, that meant I'd got the job in the first place, so I wasn't worried about the actual presentation. I also wasn't particularly worried about the possibility of my stalker—as Harry insisted on calling the bastard with the letters—getting to me. It was a public place; what was the worst that could happen?

What worried me was Harry. I missed him and I hoped to Merlin that I could find him before my speech to tell him how sorry I was for storming off. And then we needed to have a big, long talk about him backing off a tiny bit. Our relationship had always been one of compromises; it was time for another. I was a big boy, and I could take care of myself.

I hadn't slept well, and it showed. Even my mother, who, despite not leaving the house for years, still looked beautiful every day, winced at the sight of me over an unconsumed breakfast. I looked around desperately for Harry, one of my friends or even Helen. I needed someone to speak to; I needed someone to find Harry for me.

Noticing Daphne and Ginny in the crowds, I tried to make my way over to them, but found myself unable to reach them. They smiled and waved, but that wasn't any help at all. I knew Hermione was due to give her speech not long after me, so I traipsed back into the thankfully cool Ministry to look for her. If nothing else, she usually kept quite good tabs on her husband. And where you'd find Weasley, Harry was surely not far behind.

“Hermione!” I called over the small crowd of politicians and Ministry workers, all reciting their speeches and presentations. 

“Ah, there you are,” Hermione said, grabbing my arm from behind. “I've been looking for you. Have you seen Harry? I can't find Ron.”

Well, that answered my question. “I, erm, stayed with Mother last night; I was looking for Harry myself.”

“Ron got an emergency Floo just before dinner time yesterday; some breakthrough on a case or something. I haven't seen him since.”

I knew Harry was working on a big case and was glad he'd had a breakthrough, but I was disappointed that it had to happen when I needed to speak to him nonetheless.

“Never mind those two; have you seen the time?” Hermione said, pointing at the huge clock. “You're on now.”

“Shit, okay. Wish me luck!” I called as I ran back out into the sweltering heat.

I'd barely got through my opening spiel on how the new Floo powder worked and how it was going to save money and energy, when it happened. A black cloaked figure—a weird sight on such a warm day—emerged from the alley, shouting and ranting, wand held aloft.

I caught sight of Harry, a white-faced, distraught looking Harry, running towards me, also with his wand out. I didn't have time to feel relief at the sight of him, as I heard the cloaked man shouting “AVADA KEDAVRA!” and I flew backwards before the world went black.

My last thought, crazily enough, was that I hated it when Harry was proved right.

~

After dying and everything else that happened that morning, I did not expect to wake up in St Mungo's with Harry hovering around my bed. I didn't expect to wake up, full stop. I was pretty sure that only Harry had the ability to come back from the dead. Confused wasn't the word for what I was feeling.

“Harry?” I choked out, trying my best to raise my head from the pillow, but not quite succeeding. “Am I dead?”

Harry laughed shakily. “No. No. But Draco, I'm sorry; I'm so sorry. I'll make it up—”

“All right, mate, leave him to wake up a minute,” Weasley said, guiding Harry into a chair. I hadn't even noticed him in the room. “And less of that,” he said, accusingly, as Harry started dotting kisses up my arm.

“I didn't...” Harry said, gripping my hand tight in his own.

“I know, mate,” Weasley said, as calm as I'd ever known him to be.

I squeezed Harry's hand back before turning my attention to Weasley. “What happened?”

“You two sit there and I'll explain everything.”

“But Draco—”

Weasley glared at Harry and he shut up. “As I was saying, you were brought straight here after...afterwards. We didn't know if you were hit, or why you'd gone down. It all happened so fast. Anyway, I'm getting ahead of myself,” he said, taking a seat. “Let's start at the beginning.

“We knew that someone was stalking you—had it in for you. The threats were credible and they were accelerating. It had to be someone close to you; the letters had too much detail to be from some random crazy.”

I kept my mouth shut and listened, wanting to hear everything, but the questions burned inside me. I was hit with Avada Kedavra. I'd seen my fair share of those cast; it's not something you get up from. I should be dead.

“Now,” Weasley continued, “Harry wouldn't take on any other cases; he was obsessed with finding out who wanted to hurt you. Even invoked the name of the Saviour, he did.”

I was shocked. I knew Harry was working on a big case, but I had no idea that the case was me. And for him to use his status like that—it was unheard of.

“Kingsley gave him free reign. Harry told him flat out that he'd quit otherwise, and he knew the Ministry wouldn't like that.”

Harry groaned into the bed sheets. I patted his hand, hoping he'd keep quiet as I desperately wanted more information, because hello! I should have been dead, not listening to story time. Not that I was complaining.

“We went through every person in any way connected to you in fine detail; all hush-hush, of course. We could only find one person who wasn't cleared. The only one who acted in any way suspiciously was Helen.”

“What?” I couldn't believe what Weasley was telling me. I couldn't believe someone I knew, someone I spoke to daily could try to kill me. I'd bought her flowers on her birthday for Merlin's sake.

“No,” Weasley said quickly. “Nothing like that. She wasn't trying to hurt you; she didn't send the letters. She didn't actually know that she was doing anything wrong. You see, she had a secret boyfriend she didn't want anyone to know about. Zacharias Smith.”

“Smith? I haven't heard from him since—”

“Yes, since he was expelled, no one has really heard anything about him.”

“I haven't even thought about him for months—years.”

“But he's been thinking about you.”

A growl came from the bed sheets. I squeezed Harry's hand and he calmed slightly. I could only imagine where the story was going.

“And, evidently, he has spent a _lot_ of time thinking about you. He blamed you for ruining his life. Without his NEWTs, he struggled to find a job, and then you and Harry become the Golden Boys and no one wanted to listen to his little rants any longer. The letters all traced back to him. He met Helen in her local one night and he developed his plan.”

“He was twisted. He'd developed an obsession with getting Harry away from you. He sneaked looks at her diary and found out where you'd be and when. When he couldn't get to you at those places—because he couldn't risk hurting Harry, he resorted to the letters. He staked out places you were known to go and then yesterday...”

“I told Harry not to come. I told him to fuck off. I—”

Fuck. The whole world knew—it would have been plastered over the papers; I hadn't exactly been discreet. I gripped Harry tighter.

“But why, how, Avada...”

“The SAS found the connection to Smith yesterday. That spell finally came through. Everything fell into place. How he found out the details of your life, everything. We brought him in and Helen told us everything immediately. She was horrified that Smith had been using her to get to you. For some unknown reason, she likes you.”

I smiled briefly at the normal banter between us. “And...”

“She told us where to find Smith's flat. Dingy little place, with a small room absolutely covered in pictures of you. It looked a bit like Harry's trunk when we were in school, to be honest. OW! Sorry,” Weasley said, rubbing his arm where Harry had hit him. “Bad joke.”

“Anyway, like the master criminal he is, Smith wrote everything down in this creepy little diary—from each letter right down to his plan for your little speech thing.”

“So?”

“I'm getting there; calm down. We arrived at the Ministry—with full back up; the Saviour insisted—just as Smith emerged from an alley, wand drawn. He did manage to shoot off the spell, but Watts managed to tackle him to the ground at the same moment, causing the spell to veer off course.”

“Was anyone...?” I wanted the answer desperately. Not dying was all well and good, but I'd rather not be the cause of someone else's death. No, thank you.

“No, thankfully. The spell went skywards and dissipated. No one was hurt.” 

Weasley smiled and I couldn't help but sigh in relief. My chest throbbed slightly to remind me where I was. 

“Not hurt?” I repeated, gesturing to the hospital bed. “I beg to differ.”

“Ah,” Weasley said, with a huge grin. “That was all Harry.”

“What?!” It hurt to shout so I settled back onto my pillow, hoping an explanation would be forthcoming.

Harry groaned again and gripped me tighter, raising his head to kiss my arm again. I was sure I could hear the word 'sorry' over and over again.

“Your supposedly intelligent Auror of a boyfriend panicked and fired a bloody powerful Protego at you, knocking you off your feet and banging your head.”

I laughed. I couldn't help it and I definitely couldn't stop it. I laughed until Harry lifted his head to look at me. “Protego?” I said through the laughter. “How the fuck did you thing that was going to help?”

Harry shrugged. “Panicked,” he said before dissolving into laughter himself.

It wasn't long before the three of us were laughing at the absurdity of it all. Relief washed over me and I finally calmed down.

“That's not all,” Weasley said, wiping his eyes and taking something out of his cloak. Placing the paper on the bed, he walked to the door. “You're a lot more famous now. I really don't think the papers are ever going to leave you alone.”

Confused, I waved at Weasley's retreating back and unfolded the Prophet. _Buggering fuck._

**THE SAVIOUR AND THE MAN-WHO-LIVED.**

Underneath was a picture of an unconscious me being carried off the stage by a very worried looking Harry. As shocked as I was at the headline, I couldn't bring myself to care about the indignation of being carried in public.

“As far as anyone could tell,” Harry said, climbing into bed with me, “Smith fired Avada Kedavra at you and you flew backwards with the force of a spell. I ran up there as quickly as I could, and found a pulse. I only remember telling people to move the fuck out of the way.

“But, anyway, congratulations on becoming the new Boy-Who-Lived. I should warn you; it's a pain the arse.”

“I think you'll find it's 'Man-Who-Lived', thank you,” I said, still staring at the paper, it not quite sinking in.

“Whatever it is,” Harry said, cuddling up to me as gently as possible. “People think we're invincible now.”

“Harry,” I said as seriously as I could manage. “Let's not test that theory.”

“Promise, but I personally hope it's true,” he said burrowing into my side.

“What?” I hoped to Merlin that he hadn't gone sappy on me, talking of eternal love or some crap.

“Seriously, Draco. I can hear Pansy's voice. She's going to kill me.”

I laughed. It was going to be all right. Together, we were _always_ going to be all right.

_The end..._

**Author's Note:**

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